In the last article, I introduced the relational arc, the most common of the several intra-narrative structures erroneously lumped together as “subplots.” Using Raiders of the Lost Ark, I showed how the inclusion of relational arcs added “depth” to the story’s character dimension, but stopped short when it came to the question of theme. In this installment, I pick up where I left off, but with a different movie, The Matrix.
Like Raiders, the central plotline of The Matrix is fairly simple and straight-forward. Here is its plot in a nutshell: In a world where humanity is enslaved by machines, Neo is recruited by the human resistance; Neo is trained by his mentor Morpheus to become “The One”; through betrayal, Morpheus is captured by the antagonist Agent Smith; Neo rescues Morpheus; Neo defeats Agent Smith by believing his is indeed The One.
Summarized thusly, we have a purely functional story, one that aligns with the tried-and-true “Hero’s Journey” pattern. However, the story is fairly one-dimensional. To “dimensionalize” the story and give it greater “depth,” the storytellers do the same as in Raiders: they “unfold” character relationships already present within the central plotline, adding multiple “relational arcs.” In The Matrix, we may identify three relational arcs: Trinity’s “romance” with Neo (I put romance in quotations for a reason), Cypher’s betrayal of his comrades, and Morpheus’s mentorship of Neo.
Just like Marion and Belloq in Raiders, Trinity, Cypher, and Morpheus do not exist outside of the central plotline, nor are their relational arcs simply tacked on to the existing narrative. All three characters and their inter-personal relationships already serve VITAL FUNCTIONAL ROLES in the central plot. Morpheus serves a MENTOR and LEADER role. Trinity is the HERALD character and Neo’s GUIDE. Cypher, of course, is the TRAITOR directly responsible for Morpheus’s capture at the Midpoint Crisis Event. The Matrix, however, expands these existing story relationships into relational arcs by asking a simple question: “Why do these characters do what they DO?” WHY does Morpheus insist that Neo believe he is The One? WHY does Trinity become so personally involved in Neo’s journey? WHY does Cypher choose to betray his brethren?
Once we unfold these layers of the narrative—adding depth to the dimension of character—we find something like a family melodrama operating underneath these once-purely functional relationships. Morpheus is an adoptive father who believes his life’s purpose is to nurture a gifted child to maturity. Trinity, the eldest child, feels emotionally conflicted over her new brother; drawn to him, wishing to believe what father says of him, but with doubts. Cypher, on the other hand, is the overlooked middle child jealous over daddy’s new favorite.
This unfolding of character relationships does more to benefit the story than adding greater depth to the dimensions of plot and character. It takes what is otherwise a cold, cerebral, purely functional narrative, and humanizes it by recasting its actions in terms of human need and emotion. As a result, this fantastic sci-fi narrative becomes relatable to its audience because they can now understand all actions in human terms.
But what of the dimension of THEME? Many writers on screencraft have rightly claimed that one of the greatest benefits of expanding a narrative through “subplots” (whichever variety of form these “subplots” take) is in service of communicating the story’s theme. A good theme is pervasive. It permeates all story elements, deciding what is relevant to the story and what is not, unifying all actions and events under a common expression of meaning. In fact, all plot and character actions might be considered dramatic metaphors designed to ultimately communicate this conclusive meaning. However, a theme is an abstract, multi-faceted, and thus difficult to represent thing. It exists in the realm of ideas, not physical action.
As such, a cinematic story cannot state a theme, it can only imply a thematic message through a line of action presented on screen. Yet the capacity of this single line to express an abstract idea is limited to the explicit details of its unique conflict or situation. It thus can give only one tiny instance of a universalizing idea. And if the narrative is too simple or straight-forward, the audience may not receive enough material to even grasp what that idea might be. However, “subplots,” with their mini narratives, provide the story with opportunities to present the theme from other angles, within other situations, and in relation to additional conflicts or character relationships. In other words, “subplots” provide opportunities to dimensionalize a story’s theme by communicating different aspects of the same thematic idea through other dramatic situations. As a result, the audience may “see” the multi-facted nature of this abstract idea from various angles and better grasp the message the story wishes to convey.
So what is the theme of The Matrix? A purely external, premise-based reading would say The Matrix is a story designed to prompt questions regarding the nature of Reality: What is really “Real”? What is really “True”? What is just an illusion? How can we tell the difference between truth and illusion?
But let’s recast these thematics in human terms: If modern philosophy has taught us anything over the past two centuries (a subject the Wachowskis hold considerable knowledgeable about), it is that there can be no certainty regarding just what “Truth” and “Reality” are. Every trend in modern philosophy has cast further and further doubt on traditional notions of metaphysics, the human mind, and the social reality which surrounds us. What is merely perception? What is simply a made-up social construct? How do we reconcile spirituality with empirical science? The bottom line is that “reality” is subjective. We accept something to be “real” or “true” because we personally believes it to be so, or because we agree with the claims made by outside authorities on the subject. In other words, “reality” is a matter of FAITH. Faith is defined as a belief in something which cannot be absolutely proven. We are able to make our ways through life with some certainty because we have FAITH that certain ideas, perceptions, and concepts are indeed real and true.
As such, FAITH is the true theme of The Matrix. We see this quite clearly in Neo’s Character Arc. Neo’s fate, the fate of the human resistance, and indeed the fate of all humanity rests on the question of whether Neo can place faith in the idea that he is The One; whether or not he can truly believe everything his mentor Morpheus teaches him. As described below, the relational arcs involving Morpheus, Cypher, and Trinity also center upon issues of faith. As such, the inclusion of these relational arcs serves to dimensionalize the story’s theme by presenting other characters who, like Neo, also struggle with issues of faith, but in different ways and from differing perspectives.
Morpheus is a man of absolute faith. He believes without reservation in his mission, in the prophesies he has been told, and that Neo is indeed “The One”—even though this all has yet to be proven. Morpheus’s personal goal is to indoctrinate Neo with his faith so Neo will believe as strongly as he does. But, as several pieces of dialogue between other characters indicate, Morpheus is so blind in his faith that it actually constitutes his character flaw. Morpheus’s faith is so absolute that he foolishly sacrifices himself at the story’s Midpoint so save Neo, shouting “He’s all that matters!”
Cypher, on the other hand, is a man who has lost all faith. His disillusionment so so profound that he, like the Biblical Judas, is willing to betray his teacher and return to false illusion. In Cypher’s only scene alone with Neo, Cypher wastes no time undermining Neo’s shaky faith in Morpheus’s teachings. “Did he tell you?” he asks, “Did he tell you why you’re here? – Geez! What a mindjob! What do you say to that? So you’re here to save the world?”
Trinity’s relational arc, it turns out, is the most complex. While most would quickly brush off the Trinity/Neo arc as yet another “romantic subplot,” this relational arc in fact resounds with the story’s theme far more strongly than any other. However, this thematic significance is hidden behind the illusion of a typical “girl falls in love with boy” tropeline until the syuzhet finally reveals a pivotal piece of fabula information late in the third act. At this moment, Trinity confesses that the Oracle prophesied that she would fall in love with The One. This revelation rewrites everything we previously understood about the Trinity/Neo relational arc. We now know that the question “Is Trinity in love with Neo?” is intimately tied up with the question “Is Neo the One?”; conversely, the question “Is Neo the One?” is attached to the question “Is Trinity in love with Neo?” With this, we discover that the “romance” between Trinity and Neo is in fact a story of Trinity’s struggle with her FAITH. Trinity wants to believe Morpheus when he says Neo is the One, yet she is uncertain because she is unsure whether she loves Neo. But if she does sense growing feelings for Neo, is this because Neo is truly the One or only because she wants him to be the One? This explains why Trinity is so emotionally invested in Neo from the beginning of the story to its end. She wishes to believe, but is suffering a crisis of faith.
In addition to dimensionalizing the theme of faith, Neo’s participation in these relational arcs serves a subtle yet significant role in shaping the narrative discourse so that the dimensions of Plot and Character work together to deliver the story’s ultimate thematic message: Neo’s interactions in the relational arcs impact the development of Neo’s Character Arc, which subsequently affect the actions Neo takes in the latter half of the story, which set up the climactic event and the overt thematic message conveyed by Neo’s ultimate victory. Neo is able to defeat Agent Smith only because he has acquired full and total faith, both in himself and everything his mentor has taught him. Anything less would would have resulted in failure.
So, in the end, the faiths of Neo, Morpheus, and Trinity are rewarded (while Cypher’s lack of faith is punished), and humanity has hope for the future because of that faith. This theme is the reason why The Matrix, a film which depicts a nightmare dysptopian future, leaves its audience in such uplifted spirits. The message of The Matrix, communicated by its Character Arc and supported by its three relational arcs, is that humanity will survive its modern, technology-driven world that now lacks all certainty about what is “Real,” as long as we continues to have FAITH.
But what then of Raiders of the Lost Ark? I concluded the previous article with the question of why Raiders’ storytellers chose to unfold the relational arcs between Indy/Belloq and Indy/Marion, but left all other character relationships “flat.” My suggestion was that these two relational arcs were developed because they were particularly useful in the communication of the story’s theme. So, what is the theme of Raiders of the Lost Ark and how do the two relational arcs help express it?
When sniffing out a theme, the best place to start is the protagonist’s Character Arc. And yes, Indiana Jones DOES have a Character Arc in Raiders (despite what some less-informed sources on the internet might tell you).
Indiana Jones begins Raiders as a man who sees value only in the material. Meanwhile, he shows no interest in, and even scoffs at, things of immaterial value (such as emotional human relationships, the ideals of a higher cause, a belief in a higher power, and so on).
At the story’s inciting incident, when Indy is informed by US Agents that the Nazis have found the location of the Ark of the Covenant, presumably to use the Ark’s power to conquer the world, Indy jumps at the chance the beat the Nazis to the Ark first. Indy does this not out of any sense of patriotism or concern over the fate of the world (he never betrays a hint of either), but because the Ark is a highly-valued material object that he, a professional treasure hunter, considers the ultimate prize. Not only does Indy care little for the geopolitical conflict surrounding the Ark, he shows no interest in the sacred or deeply-religious value of the Ark. As a Professor of Archaeology, Indy adheres to an objective, scientific view of historical artifacts. Like the golden idol from the movie’s prologue, the Ark is merely buried treasure to be dug up and sold to a museum. (Watch the prologue sequence. The film’s opening presents a clear contrast between the religious superstitions of the native peoples and Indy’s purely material apprehensions of the idol.)
Indy maintains this attitude for much of Raiders. Yet, by the story’s conclusion, Indy has grown into a man who can indeed recognize value in the immaterial, in the intangible, in the spiritual or idealistic, over the strictly material. It is a subtle rather than a profound shift, motivated not so much by the events of the main plotline, but in the drama of his two relational arcs.
To begin with the Indy/Bellow relational arc: Thematically, Belloq serves as a “dark mirror” figure to Indiana Jones; identical in some aspects, the inverse in others. This is made explicit in the arc’s most significant stand-alone scene: the conversation between Indy and Belloq in the Cairo cafe in Act 2A, where Belloq states the (now cliched) line, “You and I are very much alike.” Belloq is an image of what Indy could become if he should take his material-value mindset too far. Belloq is also an archaeologist and treasure-hunter, but he has grown morally and ethically bankrupt in his pursuit of valuable objects. Whereas Indy is merely indifferent to the geopolitics surrounding the Ark, Belloq is positioned as a traitor to the ideals of the free world. Though never explicitly stated in the film (and, technically, set in 1936, the movie takes place before open hostilities broke out in Europe), Raiders relies on its audience’s knowledge of history to emphasize Belloq’s moral bankruptcy. Belloq is a Frenchman collaborating with the Nazis to find an object that may help the Nazis conquer the world. Belloq does this, however, not because he supports the Nazi cause (that would be a form of idealism), but because he would work with the Devil himself to procure a materially-valuable object like the Ark. Furthermore, Belloq is presented as a thief. On two occasions, Belloq steals away an object Indy has risked life and limb to retrieve, showing that he no longer respects even the unwritten rules and ethical guidelines of his profession.
Belloq presents the dark side of the story’s developing theme. The Indy/Marion relational arc, however, provides a force to nudge Indy in the opposite direction. If we walk through the main beats of this arc, we see Indy’s progression along the thematic line. Indy’s first encounter with Marion is intended as purely transactional. He is to give Marion some money, she is to give him the headpiece he needs to locate the Ark. But Marion does not see it this way. She is upset at Indy for breaking her heart years ago. Though Indy says he is sorry, it is obvious he remains indifferent to Marion’s feelings and the value of their previous relationship. He just wants the headpiece.
When Indy arrives in Cairo with Marion as his partner, Indy sees this as merely a business relationship, despite Marion’s attempts to restart a personal friendship. When Marion is kidnapped and supposedly killed in the marketplace sequence, we encounter the arc’s next major beat. Distraught, Indy gets drunk in a cafe. Following the old saw that “you don’t know what you got until it’s gone,” Indy realizes he has lost something of great immaterial value that he did not appreciate before.
Yet when, lo and behold, Indy finds Marion alive again, tied and gagged in the Nazi camp, what does Indy do? He leaves Marion there, despite Marion’s protests, because freeing Marion might jeopardize his pursuit of the Ark. Though Indy has gotten back what he has lost, he still prizes the material more – thus, Marion remains of secondary importance.
Next, we encounter one of the most interesting sequences in Raiders from a structural standpoint in which the two relational arcs intersect: Belloq unbinds Marion, gives her a beautiful dress, and treats her to a candlelight dinner. In terms of the Belloq line, Belloq is escalating his rivalry with Indy. No longer content with simply stealing Indy’s treasures, he now desires to steal Indy’s love interest as well. Though it is made clear that Marion is merely playing along, it cannot be said that Marion is not a little bit charmed by this development. Belloq has attractive qualities Indy lacks, and it is highly unlikely that Indy would ever shower Marion with beautiful gifts and romantic dinners. Thus, there is the slightest hint that Indy, due to his material-mindedness, might lose Marion to his rival. This suggestion is subtly implied when the film intercuts Marion’s dinner with Belloq with Indy hard at work uncovering the Ark at the Well of Souls. With this, like in The Matrix, we find a personally-relateable metaphor on human relations hidden within the fantastic premise: Like so many professional men obsessed with material success, Indy risks losing his romantic partner to a rival while he is busy at work because he has ignored his partner’s needs.
When, after the story’s Midpoint, Indy and Marion are reunited in the Well of Souls, Indy actually expresses jealousy when he sees Marion in Belloq’s dress. However, the crisis forces the pair to quickly reconcile their differences and work together on common ground.
After several long sequences in which Indy escapes the Well of Souls, chases down and recaptures the Ark, we are treated at the end of Act 2B to what is the most clear and obvious “romance” scene of the movie. Safe aboard a ship back to America, Indy finally softens to Marion, shows appreciation for her value, and they kiss (though the film smartly has Indy falls asleep before the romantic relationship can be fully consummated). But something should be noted about this scene. It occurs after the Ark is safely in Indy’s possession. It is only now that Indy’s material desires have been satiated that he is fully capable of considering and appreciating the great immaterial value of his relationship with Marion.
Yet when Belloq and the Nazis reappear in the following sequence, taking both the Ark and Marion, the question is now which Indy values more. Indy’s character seems to have arced when, ambushing the Ark’ procession with a rocket launcher, he offers to let Belloq keep the Ark if he releases Marion. Yet when Belloq calls Indy’s bluff, Indy cannot bring himself to destroy the Ark. This indicates that Indy still personally holds the material value of the Ark to be of at least equal importance to the value of his relationship with Marion.
As for the movie’s climax, thematically, it is a bit confused, arguably constituting the movie’s biggest flaw. Indy survives the climactic event by closing his eyes as Belloq opens the Ark. This suggests that Indy now understand that the Ark is more than silver and gold, but something of power and value beyond our petty materialistic understanding. Unfortunately, the narrative has given no previous events to explain how or why Indy came to this realization. There is thus a hole in Indy’s completed Character Arc – possibly the reason why some (falsely) assert that his character does not arc.
Yet of course, this is untrue. Indy’s Character Arc is subtle, and would be practically unobservable without the story’s two relational arcs, explaining their importance to the narrative and its expression of theme. We see some of this subtle change in character in Indy’s final scene. Indy again loses the Ark, this time to the US Agents. Yet his vocal complaint is, “They don’t know what they have there,” meaning that Indy now realizes the Ark is more than a material treasure, and its immaterial value should be recognized and appreciated. Nevertheless, he gives up to have a drink with Marion, suggesting that he will go on in life with a renewed appreciation for things and relationship beyond the material.
